Falling from grace
by My-Comatose-Shadow-Friend13
Summary: A case goes sour and Sherlock gets hurt. Guilt festers in John's heart as the assailant runs free and Sherlock bleeds out. Please read and review. Any comments are greatly appreciated. MATURE CONTENT in chapter 8!
1. Too late

John spun around, horror etched deeply into his features.

He watched as Sherlock, a man who bragged of his own immortality, fell to his knees.

His attacker kicked out and pinned him to the ground. Sherlock's large coat billowed out, horribly contrasting against his crumpled form. John stared in terror as the attacker wielded a giant steel girder above his head.

The silvery hue of the girder shimmered eerily, even in the dim light of the barn.

John's feet pounded and skidded amongst the wood chips and hay bales. The girder began its descent. Sherlock regarded it unflinchingly, stubbornly confident that John would intervene.

John skidded around the protruding spikes of a garden fork. He was still hopelessly far from fulfilling Sherlock's expectations despite his best efforts to reach him. He glanced up. Just in time to see the impact.

A metallic ring followed the very loud 'thunk!'.

" SHERLOCK!" John shouted.

Sherlock's body quivered, then was still. The masked man withdrew his foot and the steel girder. It now stained crimson.

" NO!"

The man snarled, made joyous by the hurt and pain in John's voice. John turned to him with anger simmering in his heart,

_If I get over there and find Sherlock dead, I'm going to kill you!_ He thought angrily.

_Actually, even if he isn't dead...I'm still gonna rip out your guts! _

With his new-found vigour he propelled himself onwards. The man lazily ambled over to the barn door and hitched the girder over his shoulder. His face was the image of all that was analytic, cold and unreasonable. John threw himself to the floor where he had previously dropped his gun. He scrabbled in the sawdust but by the time he felt the cold metal in his hands the man was long gone.

_Damn it!_

Slamming his fists into the floor with frustration, John quickly looked up.

_What am I doing? Harkening for revenge isn't the right thing to be worried about now! Think man, your friends lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood!_

He reverted to his doctoring mentality. Sprinting over, John slid upon his knees and frowned heavily down at Sherlock's lacerated face. There was a deep indentation across his right temple and numerous wounds all crying red tears.

_Shit! _

John stripped off his jacket and used it as a makeshift pressure pad.

" Stay with me Sherlock. You've just got to keep breathing for me alright? If you can hear me just keep doing what you're doing, that'd be great..."

John churned out a barrage of meaningless, reassuring phrases whilst his heart twisted up into a knot of guilt and fear. He wasn't completely sure who he was trying to console more; himself or Sherlock.

By this point in their relationship, he was well accustomed to the occasional time when he was expected to save Sherlock's life. But it had never gone wrong. Until now.

He quickly dialled 999 with one hand whilst the other was busy searching for a pulse. He found one. It was weak but stable.

John let out a sigh of relief.

" Hello. This is your national emergency service number, what service do you require?"

The receptionist on the other end of the line seemed to be exceptionally well-mannered and calm. John felt patronised by that and felt a surge of resentment towards the stranger. It infuriated him so badly.

" Let me think..." He said, anger made his sarcasm more prominent and vicious sounding,

" A man is bleeding dry in a godforsaken barn, so I'd say an ambulance please! And quickly! Hurry!"

There was silence for a couple of moments, then a different voice spoke out.

" Sherlock has gotten so boring, John."

_What the-_

" Tell Sherlock that Daddy has found someone far more interesting to screw around with. I'd hurry if I were you. Your little angel going to desert you very soon."

John searched for words but with little success. The terrible anger within him screeched and it churned as was brought to the boil.

" Hold on- What? You, who are you?"

The phone call disconnected.


	2. Shock

**First off, I'm not a big fan of these editorial notes but... Yes, there is a pretty big but, because I wanted to say thank you to Ballykissangel for her AMAZINGLY thoughtful review :) and to ghostofqueenqueg for having enough faith to follow this fic. Thaaaaannk yoooooouuuuuu.**

**Oh! Also want to thank the faceless 100ish visitors for reading anyways, (All this in under 24 hours of posting! Yay internet!)**

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_What the hell just happened?_

John sat back on his haunches, pressing his free hand to his mouth in horror. That voice. He'd heard it before...

The masculine voice with a undisguised Irish accent belonged to Jim Moriarty.

John glanced down at Sherlock, his elongated limbs were twitching violently. Discarding the sodden jacket John clambered onto him. As Sherlock squirmed around in his own blood, John hastily tried to restrain him. John used his hands to steady Sherlock's flailing arms and pressing his knees into Sherlock's thighs. The affinity would have been quite awkward if not for the dire circumstances. Cradling his phone between his shoulder and cheek John stared down at Sherlock.

" John! H-h-help!" Sherlock croaked loudly as he thrashed from side to side. John was roughly thrown around but he forcefully renewed his grip anyway. Warm blood splattered in all directions.

" John?" Sherlock gasped, " John, it hurts. Everywhere hurts!"

Sherlock's face was so bloodless, so pale that his bright eyes seemed to bulge from his skull. Staring deeply into John's eyes he whispered,

" Where were you John?" There was no accusation nor any anger. It was only a plaintive question but to John it may as well been a dagger thrust deep into his heart.

" Why didn't you stop him?" He asked again with blood tripping copiously down his face.

" I'm sorry Sherlock but I couldn't stop him." John choked out his ill-chosen answer in hope that the truth was preferable to a lie, "I just couldn't." Sherlock sagged at these words and averted his gaze, blinking rapidly.

_Is he...crying?_

_He must think himself a fool for trusting me... I've failed him..._

His eyes, they were so full of despair and disappointment. But most poignant of all was the utter desperation. He was desperately trying to live, trying to think, trying to forgive and trying to forget my treachery. It was all to much...

John willed himself to say that everything would be alright.

It was easy to reassure a dying stranger, there was no bond for Death to break. But Sherlock Holmes was no outsider. He was more than a flat mate, more than a friend and altogether something more intimate. It couldn't possibly be explained, only felt.

Sherlock and John were almost nose to nose. Their eyes locked together and Sherlock gave him a small grimace. It could have been the start of a smile but the pain dragged the corners down instead.

But John couldn't do it. He hadn't the strength to lie about it, Sherlock Holmes was going to die.

His face crumpled.

_Perhaps there's still time..._

John began to dial 999 again but stopped short at pressing the last digit. The emergancy services would take too long but he knew who to call. He dialled in the new number.

John pressed the phone so hard against his ear that it hurt. He waited and waited. He began to mutter every colourful obscenity known to man. Sherlock groaned, his breathing patterns oscillating dangerously; almost bordering hyperventilation and then changing to resemble that of the deepest sleep.

John heard the phone being picked up, there was a deathly silence on the other end.

" Mycroft?"

" Yes. John Watson," replied Mycroft, "to what do I owe this honour?"

The news of Sherlock's injury tumbled from his lips. It was a waterfall; a mix of fact and fiction spawned from the overwhelming fear bubbling within him. Expecting it to fall onto disinterested ears John fought back tears, Mycroft was his and Sherlock's last hope.

" I'll assemble a medical team now. I'm aware of your present location so stand by."

John jerked upright, relief reddening his cheeks. A small "Thank you," was all he could manage in return but he doubted it was heard over the whirring helicopter propellers. He hung up the call.

A warm glow radiated from his chest. John thought it was Hope.

Slowly, he looked down to see a dark red stain on his light, brown cardigan.


	3. The end?

_Is that my blood? Oh God! Jesus..._

_No, it's not mine it's..._

Sherlock coughed guiltily, " sorry about the cardigan John." Blood splurged from his mouth and began to congeal on his bottom lip. A great spasm ricocheted through his body. John quickly released his grip on Sherlock's limbs and tore off his cardigan.

John gently lifted Sherlock closer and cradled his head in his lap. He delicately rubbed Sherlock's face with the soft, fleecy material and soon retracted it to find it saturated with scarlet.

Sherlock dipped his forefinger into the centre of it. He regarded the blood as it trailed down over his knuckle, glancing up into John's fear striken face. Unshed tears shook in both their eyes. A glistening sheen of emotions on the verge of overflowing.

With great effort, Sherlock hovered his bloodied finger over John's left cheek. With slow but consice motions he traced something onto his skin. Sherlock gritted his teeth- fighting to withstand the pain if only for a few more minutes. Time ticked away. All the while Death circled, waiting to pounce and claim Sherlock as his own.

_Not yet. _Sherlock said to himself firmly._ Not yet_...

"W-w-what is..." John struggled to choke out his question. Clearing his throat he tried again, " what is t-t-that?"

Sherlock tilted his head upwards, a small smile dancing on his lips. He tried to crane his neck towards John, his voice was too weak to carry over even that short a distance. Seeing the distress this was causing him, John leant down to him. Sherlock's head twisted so his thin lips hovered above just above John's ear. He whispered,

" It's a love heart John."

The effect was instantaneous. The suppressed emotions held captive between John's rib cage now surged free. John wept bitterly, burying his face into Sherlock's chest. Not all his sobs were unhappy but most were. Sherlock's large spidery hands caressed John's head in long, tender strokes. There was so much to say and so many different words and ways to say it. Convulsing with sorrow and violent hiccups John forced himself to withdraw and breathe deeply. They gazed deeply into one another's eyes, saying nothing.

Sherlock felt a chill press onto his shoulder. Inhaling sharply, he lowered his gaze. It was no chill but mutilated hand of Death. The frost bitten fingers drove deep into his flesh and grabbed at the bone. A guttural cry escaped him. Sherlock watched helplessly as John slipped in and out of focus, his eyes wild with fright.

" Oh no, not now! Not now! Mycroft's on his way w-w-with help! Sherlock! Stay with me! Don't you dare leave me now. Not now..." John's voice wobbled and his Adam's apple quivered as he gulped down his hysteria.

With undeniable inner strength Sherlock kept his eyes locked onto John's even as Death ripped him away. Further and further down the tunnel of light he was dragged, never losing sight of his best friend. Not for one precious moment.

Sherlock's hand fell from John's locks onto his chest.

" No. No, no... Sher-" John grasped at Sherlock's wrist, it hung limply. A rising heat began in the pit of John's stomach, it flurried through his blood and scalded his throat as vomit projected from between his lips. He screamed,

" SHERLOCK!"

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**Hiya guys, it's me again. And this time I'd like to thank my five (new), faithful, fantastic followers; GobletCharm64, Space Invading Body Snatcher, mari12345, Imica85 and tigersoul101. Plus, just to let you know this is the highest number (6) of followers I've ever had! Yay! **


	4. Supernatural

**Hey everyone! Thanks for your continued interest in my drabblings and a special shout out to Ancki from Germany. Hello Ancki and let me just thank you for your fabulous review! :D Iona55, welcome to our ****hearty band of followers now at a grand total of 8! Whoop whoop! :)**

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If John couldn't feel solidness of the floor beneath him, he'd be tempted to believe he was plummeting from a rooftop. An extremely high one.

John staggered to his feet, the barn spun around him but his terrible grief anchored him down amidst the chaos.

_Sherlock is dead... Sherlock is dead...Sherlock is dead... _

The three fateful words circled round and round, in an endless, inescapable loop.

_I failed him... I failed him... I failed him..._

Cried out a second loop following the first.

None too gently he flung himself onto Sherlock again. Maddened with grief John shook him, rocking him back and forth until he could no longer see through the waterfall of tears. Slumping tearily beside him, John stared down at Sherlock. The beautiful, genuine smile on his lips looked so out of place on the face of a man who was considered a machine. A monster. A freak. It was almost scary. How could anyone be so blind? Sherlock Holmes was a great man; caring, sensitive and protective.

People chastised him for his sociopathic tendencies but it was his version of safety. Only now in Death were the walls torn down, the curtains ripped open and burnt. All those raw emotions, all that raw passion was shimmering below the surface just for John.

" Oh Sherlock..." John looked deeply into Sherlock's kindly eyes but there was no comfort hiding there. Death had stolen him from the Earth without remorse and John was so alone. All that was left was John Watson was a shadow. One that longed for the presence of his significant other. No matter the cost.

John shakily placed a hand on Sherlock's chest, on his heart. Despite already knowing what he'd find, the emptiness and void of life was unnerving. John doubled over and wept. Mournful wails eminated from his chest as his heart sang out in anguish. He clasped his hands in prayer, squeezed tears from his eyes and whispered,

" Oh please God bring him back. He's a great man. Don't let Death seperate us, this isn't fair... Please!"

John looked sky-wards, past the delapidated barn roof and began searching the night sky for a Heavenly answer. A sign. Anything. The stars danced, twinkling brightly as if everything was right in the world. But John knew that his world was anything but.

Staggering to his feet, John hurried over to the open door. The chilly night breeze coursed toward him, raising mountainous goosebumps on his exposed skin. Shivering, John let the last of his tears roll down his cheeks, their descent slowed by their transformation into ice droplets. John sniffled. His head flopped to his chest despondently as he stared at the puddle by his feet. In it he saw himself. Wretched. Lost. Alone. But then he caught sight of the vivid blood love heart on his cheek. It proclaimed loudly of his and Sherlock's love even as the rain tore at it, smudging it and trying to erase it from existance.

_Why is the world so intent on ruining what is perfect? Why?_

Behind him, a bright white light began to pulsate around Sherlock. At first, John was so overcome that he did not notice it but as it grew stronger, it demanded his attention. He unfolded himself and turned around. An ethereal light swirled and contorted the very air above him. John stared, mouth agape. The ghostly form of a man rapidly emerged, taking on the features of an incredibly familiar face.

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**Hey! Guess what guys? EDIT: This fanfiction has been viewed by 700+ different people! Revel in the power of the internet! Seriously though, if your reading this now you're amazing. :D**


	5. Decisions

**Hey guys! I'm sorry but my new fanfiction chapters may be uploaded erratically rather than by any particular schedule. I am terribly sorry, you have no idea but I have to go back to school. (It's been the six week holidays.) URGH! Again, so sorry!**

**Thanks to my newest reviewers Sue and Ernil i Pheriannath!**

**Thanks to the four favourites and ten followers :D**

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" Sherlock?" John whispered, completely at a loss.

The man swayed a little on the balls of his feet as if adjusting to his new non-corporeal body. Ghost Sherlock, for indeed it was him, looked around bemusedly. John felt veins straining his forehead, his eyes were bulging so much that he believed they'd pop. Brushing off his also translucent coat Sherlock regarded his corpse cooly, smiling at it like it was an old friend.

" Thank you body. You never failed me."

_He even sounds the same! But... Sherlock's dead. He's lying right there on the floor! How is this even possible?_

Approaching his own corpse without fear in his eyes, Sherlock placed a transparent hand on the left side of his chest. Suddenly, his hand sunk into it and groped around as if searching for his heart. After a moment, Sherlock averted his gaze from his corpse and sighted John. John felt a rising heat flush his cheeks. An intense stare passed between them which nearly reduced John to tears.

" How are you even here?" John stuttered, stunned to immobility.

"You're dead! Your heart stopped! You're dead on the floor! Your hand is _in_ your own chest for God's sake! I don't..." He gestured weakly in direction of the slightly disturbing scene before him.

"...understand."

Ghost Sherlock rose to his feet and took long, purposeful strides straight towards John. Meekly, John tried to inch away. He didn't wish to alarm the apparition Sherlock just in case rejection could turn it vile or demonic. John forced a feeble smile but it wobbled nervously across his lips.

_Is this thing even Sherlock? Should I run? Should I be scared? Surely this isn't natural... This can't possibly be real! Can it?_

" Even now my heart still beats for you." Sherlock said in a voice that was both saddening and bold. As he neared, John took a step back. Sherlock wouldn't take the hint and moved to meet him.

"It's just too quiet for you to hear..." John's eyes flitted up as Sherlock planted a deep kiss onto his lips. Or rather Sherlock leant in, passion flaming in his eyes but abruptly stopped short. John watched him visibly strain against an invisible barrier, despair welled up in both their eyes. Sherlock got within an inch of cupping John's cheek before once again, he was forced away. The barrier prohibited the simple action and to devastating effect... Sherlock began to cry and John rushed to console him. And for a third time they were prised apart. Realisation dawned.

Withdrawing tearily, Sherlock bit his lip as if unsure of whether to share his revelation. Upon seeing no visible opposition on John's face he murmured,

" Whilst you're still alive we'll forever be barred from each other. Never allowed to touch. Never able to fulfil either of our dreams or passions. Living a half life. Helpless without the other." Earnestly he caught John's eye and they shared a look,

" Is that what you want John?"

John offered no reply. Only silence.

" I mean life has many great things in store for you. I'm sure of it. You have Molly... Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. And I - well, I only had you. Sure, they were my friends but you John, were something more."

Revealing how much he really relied on John was surprisingly freeing but he sagged nevertheless. Sherlock felt his throat tightening as if a noose were wrapping itself lovingly around his neck,

" But now I don't even have you."

A glistening sheen of sweat broke out across John's forehead as he began to understand what Sherlock was asking.

_Sherlock is scared. He doesn't want a life without me, nor do I want to carry on without him, but do I want to kill myself to join him? Do I even have the courage?_

_I didn't ask for this, _he thought, _I just wanted my friend back!_

John stared imploringly up at the stars, willing an answer to form in the constellations,

_ What should I do? God, have I brought this upon myself by asking for Sherlock's return?_

Lowering his gaze he recalled what he'd actually said,

_" Oh please God bring him back. He's a great man. Don't let Death seperate us, this isn't fair... Please!"_

_Damn you! _He thought, _Damn you God._

" I'm going to do it." he stated loudly as if hoping to provoke a reaction from the Heavens. Nothing. A wave of relief overcame Sherlock,

" Thank you John. You know I'd be lost without my blogger."

John hurried over to the garden fork protruding from a hay bale. The one thing that had stopped him from helping Sherlock would now stop his heart.

_How poetic..._

He positioned himself directly in front of the three trident like prongs. If he did not hurry his foolish courage would desert him. Taking a deep breath that he knew was to be his last, John stole a glance back to the Sherlock apparition. He looked so lonely.

_Not for long..._

Sherlock proffered a ghostly hand. John wanted to take it. He wanted to join him so badly, it hurt. A sharp wind whipped up around him, a helicopter spotlight shone down through the rafters. Mycroft was here. It was now or never. Gritting his teeth John grasped the handle and with one swift motion jerked it towards him. It came free. Planting itself into his chest. A small smile flickered across his features then froze into place.

_Your blogger is on the way Sherlock. _He thought,_ I'll be with you soon._


	6. Trouble in Death

**Hello internet friends! How are you all? Are you all surviving the hiatus? Anyone got any sanity left they could give me? Ha ha, never mind.**

**Anyway, there was a reason for this editorial note which is... *drumroll*... This fanfiction has been viewed over 1,400 times! And that's all thanks to you guys! **

**Give yourself a pat on the back. :)**

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_Why am I being allowed to do this? Surely this is the moment where someone intervenes? Oh, Jesus what have I done? _

A dozen questions raced to the forefront of John's mind, bombarding him with guilt and doubt and every shade of emotion in between. Barely a nanosecond passed with each new onslaught.

_Why am I deserting my friends? What am I thinking? Is this a mistake? Oh god, what have I done?!_

One second ticked by. As his gaze was drawn curiously downwards, John inhaled sharply. The pain of realisation was like a sledgehammer hit over the head. John twisted an arm behind his back, gripping onto something cold and metallic. One of the three trident like prongs of the garden fork. They were poking out from the back of his rib cage. Scalding hot blood slid over John's knuckles and down his back, burning up his flesh without remorse.

The agony was indescribable. John felt his body topple and his jaw slaken as it hit the floor. The prongs hit the ground first and they were jarringly pushed _back_ into John's body. The jolt of white hot pain forced John into a little ball. A great convulsion ripped through him, a guttural cry ejecting from the very pit of his soul. Balled up, John fell onto his side. Forcing his head between his legs John stared at the floor whilst his tears mixed with the sawdust. A lean shadow fell across his shoulders.

" John. Don't worry John, we'll be together soon." Ghost Sherlock reassured kindly. John could see him in his peripheral vision; triumphant, gladdened and excited. The terrible juxtaposition between his pain and Sherlock's happiness was nauseating.

_I don't think that's actually Sherlock. Would my best friend really ask me to kill myself? Isn't that selfish? Isn't Sherlock above selfishness? _

John squeezed his eyes shut. Every second seemed to linger on, and stretch to an age...

_Is it over? _

_Have I done it?_

_Am I dead?_

_Is it over?_

_Have I done it?_

_Am I dead?_

_Is it-_

From the silence came an exuberant yelp, John's heart leapt to his mouth._  
_

"John, you've done it! You can open your eyes now."

" Sher- Sherlock? I'm dead?" John's voice wavered but he kept his eyes firmly closed. Beneath his eyelids he could see a bright light, it was almost heavenly.

_Oh bloody hell! I'm in Heaven?_

" Stop being silly John and open your eyes. Look at me. Please."

John squirmed uncomfortably, opening his eyes would mean facing up to what he'd done. What he'd chosen to do. Sherlock's voice was uncannily soft. Too gentle, something was terribly wrong with him. John was adamant, he wouldn't heed the dulcet tones until Sherlock had proven himself true.

" Tut-tut John. I never thought you'd be the childish one!"

John stuck his tongue out defiantly as he'd done so many years ago with his sister Harriet. A spontaneous fit of giggles seized Sherlock.

_Ha ha! Since when does Sherlock giggle? I mean without with a murder case on his hands or a corpse by his feet._

" Will you not look now John? I promise it'd be worth it, just a glance. A small peek?"

John felt a physical strain as he fought to pin down his eyelids. Within him a battle raged;

_Would it be so terrible if I looked? What if Sherlock's a monster? I'm in Heaven for God's sake anything could happen!_

John heard Sherlock call his name softly, one last time he resisted.

" No." John said.

" Please John. For me."

The tension in John's body dissolved, he felt as if he'd been frozen in position for days. Suddenly, his eyes flicked open. Everything was white. White light with no shadows or grey areas in sight. John twisted around. Expecting to see the spikes sticking out from his back he was. However there was nothing to remind John of his increasingly stupid seeming suicide. His mind was burdened with unruly thoughts, all demanding his attention.

_Why am I here? In Heaven? Surely, suicide is reason enough to send someone to Hell. Isn't it? How can I get 'Sherlock' back because this is just wrong..._

John sighted Sherlock, all aglow with joy standing a small distance away. Sherlock didn't seem at all phased by their transparency as he sprinted over. Now they were merely feet apart. Ruffling his dark curly locks Sherlock swept John close, so close that John could feel warm breath on his cheek.

Sherlock murmured into his ear,

" John! Our unrequited love can now flourish, exempt from the restrictions of reality it can and will flower! Nothing can hold us back here. No rules. No stupid reputation to uphold. I have all the time in the world for you John. And you me."

Shock quickly made way for rapture as John melted into Sherlock's arms. Every inch of skin pressed against Sherlock cried out in pleasure.

_I'm bloody kissing Sherlock Holmes! But I Am Not Gay! _

John delighted in his partners firmness, tingles spread irresistibly throughout his body. As contagious as a fever.

_This is... Beautiful. No. No! This is wrong! Sherlock's not in the right mind! _

" I knew you'd make the right decision." Sherlock whispered as with trembling lips, they withdrew to take a breath.

" Joining me was the bravest and best thing to do. Thank you John."

John wasn't too sure as he contemplated the look on Mycroft's face when confronted with two bodies instead of one. But as Sherlock nuzzled at his mouth, John collapsed into another passionate kiss.

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**I'm just wondering have I disappointed you all by killing off Sherlock and John? Do you hate me for it? I hope not because now I feel terrible! URGH! Please PM me or leave a review to clear this up. Pleeeaaaasssse?**


	7. Mycroft

**Somehow this fic has been viewed over 2,000 times! WOW! I have a pretty cool idea for next chapter so please keep reading! Sorry for the long wait between updates but GSCE's are such a pain. Please remember to share your thoughts with me! :D**

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As soon as the helicopter was two feet above the ground; Mycroft unbuckled himself, leapt from his seat and spirited toward the barn. His eyes flashed as the search lights circled around. The barn door was open.

" Please let everything be ok. For the both of them," he inwardly prayed as he side stepped into the barn. Mycroft's eyes widened, his own steady (but quick!) heartbeat pulsed in his ears like an incessant drum.

Sherlock lay crumpled in a dark red, nearly black pool. Whilst fair headed Watson lay a short distance away, impaled through the torso by a garden fork. He blinked once, then twice. Unable to process the scene of devastation before him.

Mycroft pushed down his sentiment and regarded Sherlock with his 'deduction glare'.

_Dead. Dead. Dead. No heartbeat. Dead. Still. Silent. Dead. Gone._

" Oh no." Mycroft felt a guilty conscience hammering on his heart, " this is all my fault. I should have gotten here quicker!"

Walking dazedly forwards Mycroft sunk to his knees, his entire soul quivering.

A barrage of paramedics charged through the doors, their eyes alighting on the two bodies. Mycroft nodded to them as they ripped open duffel bags and drew out equipment. Ungainly Mycroft removed himself from their path. Subtly wiping away a solitary tear. Valiant in their efforts, they too soon withdrew _from brother mine- I mean Sherlock and John bodies'. _

" Damn my feelings! I can't even focus!" A great shudder made its way up Mycroft's body, a convulsion made of pure guilt, anger and heartbreak.

" How did it happen though?" He asked aloud. Although the paramedics were still waiting, they were smart enough not to present an answer. Gritting his teeth Mycroft observed Sherlock again for the cause of death. Nothing. He couldn't find any clues to pick up on and wringing his hands, he faced John Watson.

_Suicide. Impaled. Garden fork. Full penetration. No sign of resistance. _

He reeled back to Sherlock, the same words 'dead' and 'your fault' were spiralling into a vortex in his minds eye. Sherlock's eyes were glazed, gazing lovingly at the empty air.

" Oh Sherlock..." The air turned to lead in his lungs as his vision blackened at the edges. Mycroft tottered to one side. Blinking once, twice then three times before he tumbled down like a felled tree.

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" Mycroft? Are you ok? Wake up please..." Lestrade settled beside Mycroft on the leather sofa in his office. After Mycroft had fainted in the barn, Lestrade requested him to brought to his office. The thought of leaving the man in a hospital ward without a friend was mortifying.

" What's wrong with him?" He asked to the doctor who was pouring over his notes with a pinched brow.

" The only explanation would be that Mycroft has somehow put himself into a coma. It's impossible but..."

" But what doc? Mycroft's not your average patient."

" If I didn't know better he's like a monk forcing himself into a stasis or deep meditation." The doctor leant over Mycroft, pulling at his eyelids and muttering incoherently in a scientific language that Lestrade couldn't comprehend.

" So you're saying that Mycroft has basically put himself to sleep? Because of Sherlock's..." A lump rose into his throat as he tried to force out that last word.

He tried again, "Sherlock's death?"

" Essentially yes. The trauma must have been terrible but if he remains like this for too long," the doctor gestured to his limp form,

" He'll die."


	8. Something's wrong

**_WARNING! Adult content is within this chapter so if you continue be aware that I have pointed this out already and any comments saying otherwise will be deleted. MATURE CONTENT! _**

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John forcibly untangled Sherlock's arm from around his waist and looked into his eyes,

" I don't want to sound ungrateful that we have this freedom but we're dead Sherlock! Shouldn't we focus on that rather than kissing every two seconds?"

Sherlock offered up no response, only hooking his fingers through the belt hooks on John's trousers to pull him in once more. Rolling his eyes in frustration, John licked his bruised lips which were now painfully raw. Sherlock slammed his lips against John's. Blood roared in John's ears as if trying to drown out the sound of Sherlock's unruly passion. It wasn't working.

" John, you don't seem to be enjoying this." Sherlock moaned whilst he progressively moved down John's body pecking every inch of bare, pale flesh.

" That's because I'm not enjoying it. At all." Despite raising a quizzical eyebrow, Sherlock seemed unfazed by the reaction. In one swift motion Sherlock jerked John's top so that buttons flew off like mini frisbees in every direction.

_This is too far now! It's got to stop! _John cried internally.

With curious yet experienced hands Sherlock explored John's chest. Skin tingling as their bare flesh rubbed together. Sherlock ran his fingers straight down John's spine resulting in a rising shiver of pleasure to pulse throughout the entirety of his body and soul. Sherlock eyed John's neck suggestively then lunged forward. Sherlock was on top.

_Perfect! _Sherlock thought as a bubble of fierce love coursed through him,_ just as I wanted him. Nice and pliable._

Crawling stealthily upwards, John watched as Sherlock's exposed thighs flexed and contorted.

_Exactly when did Sherlock strip naked? He was in his suit less than a minute ago I swear! _

With one swift motion Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders and pinned them back. Then, salivating like a rabid animal he ran his tongue over his lips, down John's neck and over his collarbones. Sherlock's eyes rolled far back into his head with indescribable enjoyment.

John struggled but Sherlock's strength seemed to have increased ten fold. Just fuelled by the terrifying infatuation.

" There's something wrong with you! You weren't like this in real life! I'm not even supposed to be dead! I shouldn't have-" As John cried out Sherlock increased his motions; more thrusting than light caresses. Less gentle. More forceful. Sherlock grabbed at John's waistband, threw him a pointed look and slowly inch by inch revealed his boxers. A powerful flush coloured John's cheeks as bony fingers curled under the boxer waist band too.

" Sherlock, stop." John's eyes were wide and pleading.

Sherlock's eyes hardened as he stared fixedly between John's legs. Straining, uncontrollable and hot-blooded, he just couldn't resist the temptation.

" No." He said.

Sherlock's eyes flicked from John's lips to the front of his exposed boxers. A faint smile danced over his features. Ripping and tearing at the material, Sherlock forced John to wiggle out from it and into his loins.

" John, do it for me now! Now! Make love with me! Let the Heavens know that we are truly one! John!"

Sherlock started to grind into John's abdomen whist feverishly licking his lips. His eyes glinted wickedly upon seeing John's utter discomfort.

" Have an orgasm Watson. Right...now!"

" Stop it Sherlock! No! Get off-"

Strengthening his caresses Sherlock watched John's soulful pupils dilate.

" Do it now!" He commanded.

_No, this can't be happening... I'm getting bloody raped by Sherlock Holmes?!_

"Ah!" An animalistic grunt escaped from the recesses of Sherlock's throat. Tension built up within Sherlock so much so that he scrambled onto all fours above John.

Then, as Sherlock forced himself downwards John grasped onto the first solid thing he could find... The firmness of his muscles excited him. Sherlock gave John a forceful look; he was hungry.

" Come on... Come on... Come on!" He yelled to no one in particular, struggling to his feet whilst motioning for John to stand too.

Hurriedly, John reached for his trousers and rose from the ground. But a smarting on his left butt cheek jerked him backwards. Taking his opportunity, Sherlock lunged at John. He wrapped his long, slender arms around waist and gripped tightly onto his crotch. Frozen in place, John let out a long drawn out sigh.

_God I bloody well hope he'll stop now. He got what he wanted, right? _

" That's it John. Purrrrr-fect!"

John expected Sherlock's grip to lessen... But it didn't.

Sherlock shuffled around, until he was stood with his thighs pressed into John's back. Suddenly his hips thrust forward and back, forward and back; oscillating repeatedly like some kind of pleasure machine.

John wailed in anguish.

_Oh shit! Oh shit! This is wrong...I'm not gay... It's got to stop!_

Sherlock guided John's hands towards his taunt, round butt cheeks and squeezed reassuringly.

" SHERLOCK STOP! NO NO NO! STOP!"

Sherlock spun John around sharply. He brought a cupped hand to John's cheek, causing a red welt to rise just below John's right eye. John stammered as he clutched at his face.

" John, I can't and won't love a coward. That love heart," he gestured a John's left cheek which was still emblazoned with the blood love heart from the barn,

" Wasn't a lie... But if you resist again, I'll get out the handcuffs. It will not be a hardship for me but you've got to sort out your priorities John. You're dead, so what? How you spend your afterlife; as a coward or as a lover is up to you."


End file.
